And How Bright Our Lives Once Seemed
by LavenderMassacare
Summary: A look into what Rapture should have been, at all its bright potential and then a look at what it became. AU for ages inaccuracy and a jumbling of the game's timeline. M for yaoi lemons, violence and language. Waiting on reviews


Summary:

A look, through Ryan and Cohen's eyes at all Rapture was going to be. Part 2 will be set just before Ryan's death as he makes a final meeting with Sander and evaluates all the went wrong, and all that Rapture should have been. Possible part three with Sander finding Ryan's body.

**Warnings!** Contains yaoi lemons in at least two chapters! Also there will likely be blood and bad language.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bioshock or any of the characters in this story!

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**Chapter Summary: **Ryan and Andrew's first triste and what Rapture had potential to be. Includes lemon!

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_ "Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" _

That single sentence, one line that ended in a mild question mark, spoken by a man teetering on middle age whose face had more wisdom in it than any witty American sage had caused an elite group of citizens, all accomplished men and women to burst into unbridled applause. His sharp blue eyes ran over the crowd, examining each face until he found the ones he had handpicked himself. His speech rumbled on with the thunder of a general sending his last troops out to war, with the vigor of a professor reaching the climax of his exalted lecture, and the passion of a preacher closing his bible before speaking from the bottom of his heart on hell and damnation. And yet he didn't sweat, his voice didn't falter. This man, this one, powerful man merely trembled with passion, winning the heart of very near every female in the room, and a good amount of the men. Not even pausing to sip at the ice water posed on his podium, he continued, eyes searching for those elite few, those who he trusted the fate of his great city to.

_"Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor-"_

A man dressed in a snappy, fitted suit clutched at his chest, feeling his heart begin to pound. He was a handsome man, but no sane woman cast anything more than a respectful glance at him. He was a famous artist, painter, sculptor, director, playwright, actor…the list went one. But his fine tastes had no place for the curves of a feminine body, no only the straight, hard lines of a strong masculine shape drew him in. And this man, this Andrew Ryan, he had beautiful lines. He locked eyes with the speaker for just a moment, holding back a gasp as those blue eyes looked straight into his soul. Sander realized slowly that he would die for this man, die for him and his city just as he would for his art.

_"-where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality…"_

Two faces lifted in attention at this powerful statement. One was the chiseled face of a young woman, by far the youngest to be invited to Rapture. She set her jaw, the words burying themselves deep in knot of ambition that had woven itself around her young heart. Rapture was a place for her. The other face belonged to an Asian man with cruel-looking thin lips and a reflection of horrors in his black eyes. He let a small smile steal his face for just a moment.

_"Where the great would not be constrained by the small!"_

A doctor wrapped his arms around the women on either side of him and grinned. No more emergency room headaches for him, he was going to make Rapture the most beautiful city on earth, from the citizens out.

_"And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."_

Among the mass of men and women, most of which were already well known figures, there stood one man of no particular status. He folded his arms silently, the words ringing in his ears. He was businessmen whose official purpose in Rapture would be to manage a fishery. But there was something churning in those brown eyes, something very similar to those of the speaker. He ran a slow hand through the brown curls falling into eyes and swept them aside, smiling every so slightly. There were plenty of fruitcakes and doctors and scientists going into Rapture, but there were also a lot of things that it was missing. And the man who could provide those was the man who stole the key to Rapture from the hands of Andrew Ryan

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The after party was a preview into the golden years of Rapture. Elegant women and striking men made their way about, familiarizing themselves with those also chosen by the man who made Rapture. Expensive alcohol and sultry music made the atmosphere golden and sparkling, almost too bright. Several of the more reclusive men and women, including the young German scientist and the man who would bring about Rapture's ruin found corners and back rooms to settle in for the remainder of the night. Others found their place among the many lives of the party, a certain charismatic Doctor among them.

Andrew Ryan found himself peacefully alone; those who were brave enough to approach having made their shy or slinky greetings and propositions were done. He leaned back in his chair, sipping at the champagne someone had served him a long time ago. He had no taste for it, but it was something to entertain his hands and his mouth, which had done plenty of speaking for the night. He watched his future citizens mill around the room, all in different shapes and sizes but all beautiful in some way or another. Most in personality or talent or humor and ambition.

But the man sauntering towards him was beautiful in the original sense of the word. He had long, dancer's legs, pale pink lips and the most dazzling hazel eyes he'd ever seen. Ryan knew his face; he'd seen it on art gallery advertisements and on the cover of drama magazines. Everyone knew the face of Sander Cohen.

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Sander buried his face in Ryan's shoulder, moaning without restraint as the Russian man sucked at the delicate flesh around his ear. He couldn't remember how long they'd talked, about art and about forests and everything else that came to mind, maybe it was three hours, maybe it had been ten minutes. It didn't matter now; he was in the arms of Rapture, in arms of Andrew Ryan.

Sander pulled away, nuzzling into the other man's jaw as his slender fingers began to unbutton Ryan's dress shirt, his jacket long lost. Ryan shrugged out of the garment, and within seconds it seemed they had both lost their trousers. Sander brought his hands up to the other man's chest, his fingertips slowly dragging down his torso. The elder man watched him, tensing with each brush, shivering when those long nails found his skin.

His patience wore thinner as Sander's hand wrapped around his throbbing length, squeezing expertly as he began to glide his hand up and down, much like he would when playing a violin. As good and wonderful and glorious as it felt, Ryan was not a man for foreplay. He despised unnecessary procedures, whether they be political, social or sexual. He leaned down, smashing his mouth against the other man's relishing in the moans that leaked from those perfect lips.

Sander opened his legs without being asked, eyes stuck to the man hovering over him, a man ten years his senior who he loved more than words could express. Ryan ran his tongue briefly over Sander's lips, before positioning himself at his own personal entrance to Rapture. Sander moaned softly, grinding into the organ in anticipation. Lube was applied and tossed aside, and Sander could hardly stand the wait.

A slick, satisfying sound filled the room as Ryan pressed into his first time and soon to be long time lover. The playwright groaned, arching erotically into the older man as his inner walls clenched on his member, pants replacing his breaths. Ryan shivered, enjoying the moment for what it was before sheathing himself fully and then pulling half out. Sander groaned once more, grinding into the ever quickening thrusts.

"Mr. Ryan!"

Ryan couldn't hide the smirk that stole his face as he continued to throw his hips, pressing his length deeper and deeper into the other man. Sander was butter in his hands, tossing his head and moaning at the slightest movement. His skin was slick with a thin layer of sweat, his body flushed and soft. Ryan moved his hands around Sander's back, gripping at his firm ass briefly before lifting his bottom half from the mattress and continuing to pound into him, his angle proving to be quite popular.

Sander's gripped desperately onto the sheets, screaming in pleasure as his prostate was assaulted with each movement. His body tensed and arched nipples hard and red under his thin white shirt, which was practically transparent with the sweat that covered him. He cried out Rapture's name, spelled R-Y-A-N over and over. The night seemed to drag on for precious hours and hours, the couple reaching climax again and again in one another's embrace.

With a final shove, Ryan spilled the last of his seed within the younger man, panting as he did. Sander groaned in pleasure once more, covering his torso and Ryan's more completely with his cum. The older man slid out, watching idly as cum began to run down Sander's legs, matching his milky skin almost perfectly. He climber next to the other man, collapsing into the plush pillows as he did. Sander rolled onto his side, laying his head on Ryan's chest. Ryan stroked the artist's damp hair, shutting his eyes.

"Rapture will surely be paradise if this is what her maker can offer."

Ryan cracked an eye, glancing down at the younger man. Sander smiled briefly before nuzzling into Ryan's chest and falling immediately asleep. Ryan smiled softly and let his head fall back on his pillow, deep laughter bubbling from his throat.

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R and R pretty please! Let me know if I should continue or scrap this! Love you guys!


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